


carved out of marble

by ficfucker



Category: Reservoir Dogs (1992)
Genre: M/M, Not Beta Read, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:48:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24654109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ficfucker/pseuds/ficfucker
Summary: " a line of tension snaps through freddy's shoulders. he looks like a small dog about to square up, but a second later, he's wilted. there's an almost audible "fuck it" and then freddy is wrestling out of his shirt. "
Relationships: Mr. Orange/Mr. White (Reservoir Dogs)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 41





	carved out of marble

**Author's Note:**

> very self indulgent trans masc smut, written by a trans man (terms are not universal, just ones i am personally comfortable with)

A hand tugs at Freddy's t-shirt and the kid shrinks back, makes himself small. Larry drops his hand away, assuming he's done wrong. 

"Hey, s'alright," he murmurs. He kisses Freddy's jaw as apology. "Don't gotta do anythin' you ain't comfortable with." 

A breath escapes him. He squirms a bit, places his palms flat against Larry's broad back. "Larry—I… There's somethin' you gotta know about me." 

Larry runs the mental track of possibilities. Embarrassing tattoo. A surgery scar. Daddy issues or some other trauma that comes naturally with being a faggot. Shame about muscles or lack of. 

"I'm all ears." Larry kisses at his jaw again, slides his hands down. He curls his fingers into the belt loops of Freddy's jeans. Trying to be passive, disarming. 

He likes Freddy a lot, doesn't want to ruin what they've got going. 

Freddy shivers. He draws his right hand away from Larry, up to his own chest. Larry takes a half step away to give him room. "I wasn't born…," he starts, but his voice halts, falters. 

Larry watches him silently, trying to maintain an air of willingness, to understand. Patient vibrations. His eyebrows go together quizzically. 

A line of tension snaps through Freddy's shoulders. He looks like a small dog about to square up, but a second later, he's wilted. There's an almost audible "fuck it" and then Freddy is wrestling out of his shirt. 

A pale expanse of flat stomach. A few jutting ribs. And, unexpectedly, white medical bandages coiled tight around his chest. 

Larry tilts his head, curious. "Get into a knife fight recently?" he jokes. 

Freddy frowns. His slender fingers shake as he hooks them into the bandaging, starts unspooling them. The act is almost violent, like he's trying to dig his fingernails in and remove a layer of skin. 

Beneath the wrappings, two small peaks. Tiny things, maybe no larger than tennis balls. 

Larry's staring dumbly, unsure what to say or how to proceed. Freddy is holding himself rigid, defensive, but once again, the meanness rushes out of him and he hiccups, "I'm sorry, Larry. I'm sorry—" 

"Hey, kid, knock it off with all that," he soothes. He boxes him back in, seamed together. He wishes they'd made it to the bedroom, no longer wants to be backing Freddy into the wall of the hallway. "You don't got anything to be sorry for, buddy boy." 

Freddy's bottom lip quivers and he reaches out hesitantly, places his hand to Larry's shoulder. "I don't tell folks about—you know," he chokes out. "How I was born…" 

Larry says what comes to mind. "Ain't their business. Nobody's business but yours." He cups his hand to the back of Freddy's head, toys with his hair. 

"You don't gotta pretend it's okay. You don't have to stick around," he mumbles. His voice is both sharp and fearful. 

Larry kisses at his temple, presses his lips to his eyebrow, his forehead. He brings his right hand up and swipes his thumb over Freddy's cheek, makes eye contact with him. Freddy looks like a rabbit caught in a snare, looks like a carton of milk turned on its side and burbling empty. 

"You ain't gettin' rid of me so easy, kiddo." 

Freddy laughs, wet and tight, his eyes brimming with tears. His lips contort into a desperate smile. He leans into Larry's palm. 

Though it's inelegant, Larry presses his hips forward, presents his hardness by rubbing it against Freddy's thigh. A way to show him he's not dissuaded. Freddy laughs again, quiet, nuzzles his face into Larry's neck. 

Larry holds him, runs his hands up and down Freddy's naked back. 

After a moment, Larry whispers, "Wanna sit down? Go to the bedroom?" 

Freddy nods, smiles against Larry's throat. Larry slides a hand to his lower back, herds him to the bedroom. They sit on the bed and Larry pats his hand on Freddy's thigh. 

"Listen, Freddy, you don't gotta worry about me, alright? I like you. A lot. Nothin's changed." 

Freddy nods again, clearly nervous, no footing. He smiles, his eyes sad, but there's a gleam behind them. a want. 

Larry isn't sure what to do next. He starts to unbutton his shirt awkwardly. An attempt to make them even. Doesn't want Freddy sitting there like he's getting a physical. 

In a moment of bravery, Freddy surges forward and kisses Larry. Puts a hand to the side of his face and kisses the air right out Larry's lungs. 

"Jesus," Larry murmurs, studying the shape of Freddy's lip when they break away. He wants to memorize every detail of him. Wants to kiss every inch he's allowed. 

Freddy smiles, a little sheepish. To distract from his obvious nerves, he flicks one of Larry's shirt buttons and mutters, "Get goin', huh?" 

"Was workin' on it." Larry shrugs out of his Hawaiian shirt. He immediately gets his arms around Freddy, turns him over, lays him in the bed. 

Kid looks vulnerable. Some of his hair is flopping into his wide, starry eyes. Larry drags his hands, mindful and slow, down Freddy's chest, catches the tip of his pinky on one of Freddy's nipples. He gasps, wriggles. His face flares with a dusty blush, teeth bite into his bottom lip. 

Larry leans in so they're nose to nose. Their lips brush like polite conversation when Larry says, "Gonna treat you right, baby." 

"I haven't—I've never…" 

Larry kisses his chin, down to his neck. He waits for Freddy to get the words out. 

Freddy swallows, his breathing evens out some. "I haven't been with someone since becomin'. Since changing." 

"Mm." Larry continues with his kissing, gets down to Freddy's chest, his timid breasts. He takes the point of one nipple into his mouth, sucks with a forgiving and practiced amount of force. 

Freddy arches off the mattress, shocked and sensitive. "Oh…," he chokes. 

Large hands go to his sides, anchor him back to the bed. He glances up at Freddy. He smiles around the tender flesh in his mouth, bristles with pleasure when Freddy whines, sleek face scrunched up. Larry peels away, kisses the partnering bud. 

"Tell me to stop," Larry says softly. "If I fuck up." 

Freddy nods once quickly. He reaches out, pauses, then threads his fingers into Larry's dark, curly hair. Larry kisses along his stomach, brushes his cheek against Freddy's happy trail. Freddy's aching in his boxers, his heart thrumming like a war drum all the way down to his toes. 

"Larry," he whines. 

"Mhm?" 

"Want you to fuck me," he mumbles. 

Larry chuckles, sits up. "Can do." He works at Freddy's fly, shucks off his jeans. 

Freddy lies there in his boxers, bare thighs stippled with goosebumps. He hasn't been this naked with someone before, not since beginning his transition. His body is lonely, his mind fenced off. 

Larry undresses down to his underwear, keeps it fair. He straddles Freddy, kisses him. It makes a soft, wet sound. "We doin' okay?" 

Another nod. Freddy smiles and runs his hands up Larry's chest, coils some of his chest hair around his finger. Seems to admire it. Larry watches him. Freddy's face is set with a boyish curiosity, his eyes flitting slowly as though taking note of each detail he can make out in the low light. 

"You're fuckin' gorgeous. Anyone ever tell you that?" 

Freddy startles and his hands drop away. His lips part a centimeter and he shakes his head ever so slightly. 

"You're beautiful, kid." Larry scoots off him, dips a finger into the waistline of his boxers. "Romantics would've written poems about you. Carved you out of marble." 

And Larry is being honest, isn't heaping it on as compensation. He's not looking to praise Freddy out of a place of pity. It's not about Freddy's gender. To Larry, Freddy isn't missing anything, hasn't been made incorrectly. His sweet nothings are genuine, because Larry looks at Freddy and he's positive he doesn't want to look at anyone else ever again. 

No one compares. 

Freddy makes a noise, flustered, and raises his hips up. He kind of shimmies his hips side to side, an invitation. Larry makes good on it and pulls the boxers off completely, is greeted by a crop of dirty blond pubic hair. Larry skims his fingers over Freddy's bush, relishes the tremble it causes. 

He dips his index finger down, finds Freddy's slit. The first motion he tries is a circular rub, but he reads the body language and changes to a more traditional tug. Freddy whimpers at that, pushes into the touch. 

"There ya go, sweetheart," Larry praises, husky. He spits onto his fingers, rubbing thumb and index together, then returns to stroking Freddy soft and slow. 

Freddy sets his teeth, whines. "Larry," he whimpers. He curls his fingers around Larry's wrist to guide him, to ease the touch when needed. Mostly he juts his hips forward, grinds into the warm contact. He hasn't been touched by another since transitioning and the differences are glorious. His t-cock throbs. 

"Want more," Freddy croaks. 

Larry smiles, cheeky, and leans in to kiss Freddy. Always kissing Freddy. Like he's getting paid to. Like each kiss is to ensure this kid is real, is his. 

"You got condoms?" Larry asks. 

The question makes Freddy blush as if he wasn't being jerked off a minute ago and he nods. "Drawer right there beside you." 

Larry opens the nightstand, finds a condom as promised. He slips out of his underwear and rolls the rubber on. He acts like he doesn't notice Freddy watching, but the kid looks hungry and being regarded with that much desire is exciting. Larry shoots him a wink and Freddy stutters on a laugh. 

Larry returns to Freddy, places a hand to his midthigh. With his other, he strokes a few tufts of hair out of his eyes. "You done this before?" he asks, tender as he can. 

Eyes tilt away for a split second. "Yeah. Well. I've done stuff before. Uhm, not really like this." 

"That's okay," Larry says. "More than okay. Jus' gotta tell me what you don't like. What you do." 

Freddy hums and kisses Larry again, craning his neck up to reach. Larry bites at his lower lip, pushes Freddy's thigh up further. He presses forward blindly, still kissing Freddy. His cock bumps against the top of Freddy's pubic mound, clumsy, but Freddy raises his hips to chase it. Freddy reaches between them and grips Larry by the base, starts to guide him slowly in. 

"Don't gotta rush," Larry murmurs. 

"Want you to hurry up," Freddy grumbles, impatient. 

So Larry shows mercy and with great care, thrusts in. Freddy gasps, digs his nails into Larry's shoulder blades. Larry can hear his heart hammering like a small bird flapping its wings. He kisses Freddy's neck, his jaw. He pauses to let him adjust. 

"C'mon," Freddy whines. 

Larry ghosts a chuckle and rolls his hips, marvels at how Freddy's eyes roll up into his head. He looks so taken apart, looks frayed. Larry dips his head down and bites at his chest, little playful nips that make him shiver. 

"Fuck…" 

The pad of Larry's tongue lavs over the teeth rings left behind, soothes the upsetted flesh with caring licks. He thrusts again and again, each move gaining speed. It's methodical, the placement of his mouth, the timing of his hips. Freddy's making soft, syrupy "oh"s and "uh"s, his arms held tight around Larry. 

"Want you to reach down," Larry whispers, "and touch yerself for me…" 

Freddy listens, no questions asked. He slides his hand between them, starts to jerk himself off. That must really do something to him because clenches around Larry, tosses his head back in the pillows. His other arm goes up to cover his eyes, but Larry peels it away. 

He kisses Freddy's nose, says, "None of that." 

Freddy whimpers and it coils hot in Larry's gutt. Freddy's eyebrows are creased, mouth hanging half open. His wrist works mechanically, tugging his t-cock in time with Larry's thrusts. 

Larry scoops his arms under him, hoists Freddy up so they're sitting, and fucks into him from below. Freddy yelps, clings to Larry, face buried in his neck. He lifts up about an inch and sinks back down, meeting Larry each time. Moans are punched out of him. He breathes, hot and humid, against Larry's throat. 

"That's it. My pretty boy…" Larry groans, cups both hands to Freddy's ass. He squeezes, delights in the wiggle it produces. 

Freddy's rutting himself frantically against Larry's lower stomach, trying to gain some friction. Pushing down against each thrust, humping forward best he can. It drives Larry nuts, how keyed up Freddy is, how warm he is in his arms. He kisses the ball of his shoulder. He gives Freddy a bite there, too, one that produces a broken moan. 

"Larry, oh fuck, Larry." Freddy starts to tense up, his thighs trembling. Each muscle in his body is going taut, strained like rope about to snap, and Larry works him harder, fucks up into him. He drools praise, calls Freddy baby and darling, coos and lifts one hand to palm back of his head. 

Tremors go through him and Freddy peaks, curls his toes so tight it nearly hurts. He cries Larry's name, swallows it down by finding Larry's mouth and kissing him, absolutely manic in his pleasure. His t-cock bobs and it's almost too much; the closeness, the warmth. He tries to maintain his rhythm, but he's too far gone, over the edge, so his lifts and falls are sloppy, landing into Larry's lap without grace. 

It's enough for Larry. Freddy is clamped down around him, tight and slick, and a few more thrusts get him there. He unloads into the condom, forcing his tongue into Freddy's mouth. Freddy has gone to jelly in his arms, a heavy curtain sagging against his chest. 

Larry kisses the top of his head, gives his scalp a soothing scratch. 

"Jesus," Freddy mutters. He sounds like an astronaut, a million miles away. 

Larry lifts him up and off, lays Freddy in the bed while he gets up to tie the condom off, discard it. He crawls back into bed and Freddy greets him with a slow, innocent kiss. His eyelids are droopy, pupils blown wide. Larry strokes the side of his face, pulls him to his chest. Freddy's nipples are still hard. They poke into Larry. 

"How was that?" Larry asks, voice low. 

"Hand me a cigarette and it'll be a five star rating." 

Larry snorts but rolls away to find his carton of smokes in his jeans, passes Freddy a cigarette along with his lighter. Freddy melts into the bed and takes long, deliberate drags that expand his chest as he breathes them in deep. 

"I meant what I said. About liking you." 

"You're not so bad yourself, old man," Freddy teases, grinning. 

Larry grins back, squeezes his bicep in a silly display of affection. "Stick around if you let me." 

"Was hopin' you'd stay the night…" Freddy risks a glance over, his smile shrinking down to a pearl of hope. 

"I'll stay with ya as long as you'll have me." 

Freddy smokes in silence for a while. Larry is happy just to be with him, watches him puff out wobbly rings. 

Carefully, Larry says, "It ain't been easy for me, ya know. My generation and everything." 

"Shit, man, I bet." 

"What I mean is, I know what it's like. Hidin'. Bein' scared. Least a little bit, in a way." 

Freddy stretches over to tamp out his butt in the ashtray on his bedside table then rolls back over, tendrils an arm around Larry's middle. "You bein' scared? I don't believe it." He draws nonsense patterns into Larry's back with his index finger. 

Larry pulls him closer. "You'd be surprised," he mumbles, following it with a dry laugh. He continues after a beat, "I dunno what we got goin', kid, but I'd like it to keep goin'..." 

Craning up, Freddy kisses Larry on the chin. "Gimme a minute and I could get goin' again." 

Larry chuckles. "I think I'll need more than a minute, Jesus, gonna wear me out." 

Freddy giggles. "Anytime you're ready then."

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading <3
> 
> can find me on tmblr @ficfucker


End file.
